knitwitfics

She wore black to the funeral, of course.

She stood near the back of the small group of mourners, mainly watching Kim, Chase, Tony And Michelle. Kim looked appropraitely pale and lost; a fine actress.

Or maybe it wasn't much of an act, maybe she was thinking that this fake death, this pantomime of a funeral still meant a death of a kind. She wouldn't get to see or even speak to her father much, if ever; how much depended on the whim of the bar, and so far its whim had been to keep her here since she'd left. No proud father walking her down the aisle, no proud grandfather pacing in the hospital waiting room, waiting to hear about the birth of another grandchild. He was dead in name; maybe that was enough of a loss that Kim didn't have to entirely fake it. She watched, musing, wryly, that they were both in the same boat now, both separated from their fathers by the capricious decisions of a faceless Landlord.

She didn't go to the wake afterward. Kim had invited her but she thought it might be a litle to noticeable if the wrong people were there. The fiction she'd told her family and friends back in New York that she was going to the funeral of a friend from CTU wouldn't hold up if many of their mutual coworkers were there. She didn't even join the line of people to give her condolences to Kim, too worried that she wouldn't be able to muster an appropriate reaction.

Instead, she headed back to her rental car, ready to drive back to her hotel and soak in a bath for a while. Soak away the ache in her heart from watching the funeral. Even though she knew it was just a show it felt a little too real, too many memories of her father's funeral, too many days spent out here, unable to get back to the man who supposedly been buried today. Too many conflicting thoughts, of sorrow and guilt and hope and love.

But as she unlocked her hotel room door, it didn't open to her room, but to one more familiar. The long bar, the scattered tables, the booths along the walls, the chatter, the people. Her heart jumped and she scanned the room before hurrying outside toward the lake. She knew he'd be there.

She didn't say anything to him, just hurried up to him and sat beside him as he stared out at the lake. Once she was seated, she wrapped her arms around him, a little surprised to feel tears trickling down her cheeks.

He pulled her close, stroking her hair, his voice low and soothing.

"It's all right. It's okay. It wasn't real."

---

She wears black to the funeral, of course.

Standing by the graveside, feeling cold and numb all over despite the sun, Elizabeth holding her hand tightly. She knows if she turns her head to look at Lizzie or Andrew, she won't see any of their father in their faces. She won't see his eyes, his smile, however much she might want to. They weren't his blood--or hers for that matter--not that that had ever mattered to him. But in Andrew's face she'll see his stoicism, in Lizzie's she'll see his sensitivity. They're adopted, but they're his children.

Once the words are said, the mourners gone, she asks Andrew and Liz to leave her for a moment, to wait for her by the car. They leave, and she touches the coffin, part of her not believing that her husband of twenty years is inside.

She bends over, touching her forehead to the smooth, polished wood, whispering the name they never dared mention even in what seemed to be private moments. It had never been an easy secret to keep, living a life of so many lies and half-truths, and the stress had sometimes taken its toll; they had had their fights. But it was never enough to break them, and she's decided the secret can't hurt either of them any longer. Their children should know their father's name; they're both young adults, and both should know that they have a sister, a niece and nephew.

"I love you, Jack," she whispers, before straightening and turning to leave. As she goes, she sees a blonde woman and man with greying hair standing a short distance away, both only a few years younger than her, and accompanied by a young blond woman next to them. She nods, and they nod back, not needing to share any words to share their grief.

She excuses herself from the wake once she's made a quick round of the guests and heads for the bedroom. But as she opens the door, it's not their bedroom that she sees, but another room, a familiar room, though it's been a long time since she'd last been there.

She hurries through the bar to the lake door, her heart pounding in her chest with desperate hope. She sees him, standing by the shore, staring out at the water and she runs over to him, wrapping her arms around him.

He hugs her tightly, stroking her hair, feeling so much stronger than he had before that last heart attack, the one that had taken him from her. The last time she'd felt his arms around her.

"It's all right," he says softly, sadly. "It's okay. This is real."